A Series of Peter Parker Sickfics
by AuthorandArtist13
Summary: This will be a little miniseries full of fics with Peter sick, stressed, injured, etc. (With plenty of fluff, whump, and hurt/comfort along the way, of course.) Prompts and reviews are always welcome!
1. Chicken Soup

**A/N: Hey guys! This is going to be a little mini-series, filled to the brim with fluff, whump, and good ol' hurt/comfort-y stuff along the way. Each one, as described, will have Peter sick, stressed, etc. I hope y'all enjoy! I'll be publishing sporadically. (Also, your feedback is really important to me, so please review or leave a story prompt below!) :)**

And now, on to the sickfic….

 **Chicken Soup**

Peter clutched the smooth porcelain sink with trembling hands. He gazed up at his pitiful reflection in the mirror. Why did he have to get sick _now?_ He had just finished hurling out all contents of his stomach, retching until all that was left in him were a few weak, dry heaves. This was horrible, this whole thing was a nightmare. He was supposed to be spending the day with Tony at the Avengers Tower, training and improving his suit's capabilities. Instead, halfway through installing new web shooters, he had dashed out of Tony's lab with a muttered "bathroom" and puked.

Now he was shaking like a leaf and praying to the Lord almighty that Tony wouldn't notice a thing. He turned on the tap and sipped a little water to rid the foul taste in his mouth, then ducked down, splashing his face. It felt like heaven—cool, refreshing. He patted his face dry with one of the fluffy towels, then looked up.

Tony was behind him.

Peter cursed softly under his breath and spun around slowly, plastering a nervous smile over his face. "Hey, Mr. Stark. How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know that you've got a grade-A fever."

Peter stepped back against the sink in an attempt to dodge the hand being pressed against his forehead, but to no avail. Tony raised his eyebrows at the heat radiating off it.

"Wow. How long have you been hiding this?"

"I honestly didn't know, Mr. Stark, I swear." Peter replied. He couldn't blame Tony for asking, the kid did have a record for pushing himself too far. However, Tony seemed to sense that he was telling the truth this time and sighed, pulling his sleek phone out of his pocket.

"Alright, champ, let's get you home," he said, the pad of his thumb scrolling through his contacts. "Now where's your Aunt's number?...Ah, here it is-"

"Don't bother calling," Peter mumbled. "She isn't home."

"Really? Where is she?" Tony asked, brow furrowed.

"Business trip."

"Well then, I guess that means you're staying with us for a while."

"What?" Peter looked up in alarm. "No, you don't have to do that, I'll go home-"

"There is no way on earth I'm letting your sorry ass stay home alone with that fever," Tony replied, raising an eyebrow. "Kapeesh?"

Peter sighed in defeat. "Okay."

"Good. Come on, let's get you situated." Tony wrapped an arm around Peter's thin shoulders and led him to the living room. He sat him on the couch, then started rifling through the kitchen cupboards.

"Hey kid, do you like soup?" He called over his shoulder, pulling down a few cans.

"Mr. Stark, you really don't have to-"

"Your job," Tony interrupted, spinning around and pointing a spoon at Peter, "Is to sit there and be sick, okay?" Peter nodded helplessly. "Okay. Now do you want chicken noodle or beef?"

"Chicken." Peter muttered.

A few minutes later Tony plopped down on the couch next to Peter and handed him a steaming bowl. Peter thanked him and watched as Tony flicked through Netflix absentmindedly, finally settling on The Office. Peter dipped his spoon into the bowl and brought it to his mouth, relishing how good the noodles and carrots tasted. Soup didn't usually taste this delicious, right? He ate another spoonful, and another, grinning inwardly when he caught Tony watching him out of the corner of his eye, smiling. They stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon, laughing at Jim and Dwight, until Peter felt his eyelids grow heavy.

Tony slipped the near-empty bowl of soup from Peter's hands as the kid drifted off, his head leaning to rest on the older man's shoulder. Tony smiled. Peter was stubborn, that was for sure, but he was also the sweetest, smartest kid you'd meet. He ran his fingers through the Spidey-kid's hair affectionately.

All it took was a little chicken soup.

 **A/N: Ahh! You guys! I love writing their father/son relationship. As always, thank you guys so very much for reading. I'm also in dire need for some prompts to continue this lil' series, so if you guys have any ideas, feel free to PM me or leave a review below. That's all for now, and I'll see you guys again next week! :)**


	2. Speechless

**A/N: Hey guys! I got an amazing prompt from Teenylambofgod on my last lil' sickfic, so you can bet that I'm gonna be using it today! (P.S. Special thanks to everyone else who reviewed!) Oh, and one more thing: if any of you have read my Hamilton fic, I'll Write My Way Out, I promise that I'll be updating soon! It's taking me a lot longer than expected for me to figure out how to write that chapter, but we're getting there! Thank you guys for being so patient.** **:)**

 **Alright, let's get to it…**

 **Speechless**

Peter popped yet another cough drop into his mouth and sighed. The cooling relief lasted but a short moment before the grating, sore feeling in his throat resurfaced. When it had first arisen that morning, he had thought little of it. But as the day went on, it seemed to get worse by the hour, and now he was trying his best not to wince each time he swallowed. He wished he could tell Aunt May, so she could whip up some tonic or whatever she put in her magically throat-soothing tea, but unfortunately she was out of town for the weekend. Instead he was hanging out at the Avengers Tower, popping cough drops like they were candy.

It probably wasn't the healthiest solution out there (or the most practical, for that matter), but what was he going to do? He had a serious track record for being sick at the worst of times, and he didn't want to add to it. So, instead of telling Tony or Bruce that his throat was housing the fires of hell, he stayed relatively silent, only piping up every once in a while to answer a question thrown his way.

But when Clint started joking about Tony being jealous of Shuri's talent, Peter opened his mouth to retort. All that came out, however, was a garbled, strangled little squeak that made all the eyes in the room lock onto his. Peter blushed and cleared his throat loudly, then tried again.

"No…way…on earth." His words grated on his throat painfully, making him wince. Clint's eyebrows shot up.

"Whoa, mind telling us why you sound like you're dying?"

Peter felt his face grow hot as he tried to make out a response. Tony stepped forward and pressed a palm to his forehead, his eyes narrowing as he felt the heat from a fever creeping through his skin.

"Wow."

"It's…" Peter choked out, trying to tell him that it was fine, it was nothing. Tony held up a finger.

"No, stop." he said with a sigh. "Bruce?"

"Yeah." The doctor felt Peter's forehead and smiled wearily at Peter. "Really, bud? Again?"

"That's another one for the record." Nat smirked. Peter hung his head in shame.

"Aw, don't worry, man," Clint said, punching Peter's shoulder playfully. "Go rest for a while and then come back so I can kick your ass in training." Peter couldn't help but smile as he rolled his eyes, as if to say "You wish."

"Alright, Pete, you know what this means," Tony said. "Off to med-bay."

Peter opened his mouth to protest. He couldn't go to med-bay, not when the whole team was here. He was supposed to do stuff with them, not lie around in a bed all day. Nothing came out of his mouth this time, however, only a pressing silence. Bruce tsked at him softly and held out a pocket notebook and pen for him, which he took gratefully. Flipping to a random page, he scribbled furiously, then practically shoved the notebook in Tony's face.

 _No._

It was underlined threateningly several times. Tony sighed and cocked one eyebrow, studying the kid carefully. Maybe it wasn't fair to leave him locked up in med-bay…he had been extremely excited about his weekend with the team, almost to the point of annoyance. After a long pause, he glanced at Bruce and spoke.

"Fine. But," he added at Peter's look of elation, "Until Bruce is positive that fever's gone, you are to be a permanent resident of the couch." He nodded in its direction. "Got it?"

Peter opened his mouth to speak again.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Tony exclaimed. "Keep the lips zipped, Spidey-pants."

Peter rolled his eyes and nodded. Being confined to the couch was a lot better than a bed in med-bay, after all. At least then he wasn't stowed away from anyone.

"Great! We'll make a movie night out of it." Clint exclaimed.

"I'll make the popcorn." Nat hopped up and left for the kitchen.

Soon Peter was curled up on the couch between Tony and Nat, sipping some honey tea Bruce whipped up that was almost as good as his Aunt May's. He sighed contentedly as Natasha ran her fingers through his hair affectionately, ruffling it up and then smoothing it back down again. He laughed softly at the characters on the movie they were watching, smiling a little when it didn't tear up his throat, and glanced over at Tony. Peter reached for the notebook on the table and scribbled down a message, tearing out the sheet of paper and folding it up. He flicked it into Tony's lap rather indiscreetly. The older man raised his eyebrows at him before unfolding it slowly.

 _Thank you._

There was a little smiley face next to it. Tony smiled and shook his head, motioning for the notebook. Peter tossed it to him and he wrote back.

 _Anytime, Underoos._

Peter grinned and turned back to the movie. Maybe being sick again wouldn't be so bad after all…as long as Bruce made more of his tea.

 **A/N: You GUYS. This one was so much fun to write, not gonna lie. Also, I am convinced that Tony would be totally amazed and proud of Shuri's intelligence, and not jealous in the slightest. (But Clint would definitely tease him about finally being out-smarted for once in his life constantly, because Clint.)**

 **I love writing little fics like these for you guys, and am also in serious need for some new prompts, so send 'em over! Chances are you'll get a little fic written in your honor. (Reviews are also amazing, tbh.) Anyways, that's all I got for tonight, so I hope you enjoyed! I'll see you soon! :)**


	3. Equations

**Equations**

* * *

 **A/N: Hey guys! I was going through my old files when I stumbled upon this little beauty. This was actually my first completed Peter Parker fic (yay!), and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Basically Clint and Natasha help Peter work through some finals week stress. (I should also point out that in this fic Peter is spending a few nights at the tower.)**

* * *

Peter Parker was hunched over a table in one of the Avengers Tower conference rooms, trying (and failing miserably) to understand how advanced calculus works. He had a huge final on it in two days, and the stress was driving him crazy. Finals week was always a living nightmare for him. What with the Avengers, school, and trying to stay up to date with his friends, it was all too much for his teenage brain.

Peter sighed and scribbled out another botched equation so roughly his pencil broke.

 _"Argh!"_ he exclaimed, chucking his pencil at the wall and burying his face in his hands. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks. "I can't do this." He muttered.

"Can't do what?"

Peter snapped his head up to see Clint standing in the doorway with Natasha.

"Oh…" the teen stammered. "Nothing, just homework stuff, no big deal."

"It doesn't look like nothing." Natasha said, stepping forward. She tilted Peter's chin up and looked him over, noticing the purple circles stamped under his bloodshot eyes. She let go and stepped back, still staring at him intently. "You haven't been sleeping," she declared, a little more softly. "What's going on, Peter?"

"I-it's nothing, really-"

"I thought we already clarified that it's obviously something," Clint remarked. "So what is it, kid?" Peter sighed.

"It's just…it's finals week, and I've got a huge one tomorrow that I've barely studied for because of patrol and new missions and stuff, and now I've got no clue what I'm going to do and-" he dropped his head into his hands again. "-I'm gonna fail." He whispered. His frame shook slightly as he cried into his palms, sniffling a little. Natasha and Clint exchanged a glance.

"Well, I'm no expert," Clint spoke up, taking a seat at the table next to Peter, who looked up and wiped his eyes. "This is Tony's forte, not mine, but I'm pretty sure you're supposed to take this part," he pointed at a chunk of the equation. "And change the _x_ to _y_ and put it…here." He pointed to the end of the problem. Peter sniffled and tried it out, eyes widening when he punched the numbers into his calculator.

"That… _works."_

"Don't act too surprised." Clint smirked. Natasha pulled up a chair beside them and grabbed the textbook laying in front of them.

"What problem?"

"Number eight." Peter replied.

The Black Widow studied it for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. You're going to want to start by copying this out…"

Peter nodded and glanced over at the textbook, scribbling on his scrap of paper as Clint and Natasha walked him through how to solve each problem step-by-step. They worked through the night, until finally he had finished the worksheet. Peter leaned back in his chair with a sigh of relief and rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"You should go to bed," Natasha said. Peter nodded and stood.

"Thank you," he said sheepishly to the two assassins.

"Anytime," Clint replied. "Just don't let your Aunt know we let you stay up this late." Peter grinned and nodded, trudging up the stairs to his guest bedroom, where he instantly fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I love hearing your guys' feedback, so feel free to review or leave a dialogue prompt you'd like to see in future fics. I can never have too many ideas, you guys, so send 'em all over! (Special thanks to everyone who's reviewed or left prompts on my previous stories so far!) :) And let me know what you thought of this lil fic-like I said, it was my first, so I'm on the fence with it. Thanks again for reading, and I'll see you again soon! ;)**


	4. Partly to Blame

**Partly to Blame**

 **A/N: Hey guys! Wow, it's been a little while, hasn't it? I hadn't realized until a few days ago that I haven't updated this (or my other fics, gah) in a few weeks, so here you go kiddos! This lil' beauty is something I whipped up a couple months ago, when I was still on winter break, and now that my schedule has gotten so busy I've decided that I might as well pull it out of the dredges of my computer files. I'm pretty pleased with it, especially since I wrote it over a period of major writers' block, lol. ;) Basically Peter is sick while sparring with Steve one day, and accidentally gets his lights knocked out. Cue Steve feeling super bad and having Real Talk with Peter in med-bay.**

 **Also, a few side notes: I am, in fact, planning on updating my Ham fic, so don't worry about that. And, regarding all the fabulous prompts I've been getting: thank you all so much, and feel free to send in any others you'd like to see. Just know that a.) because of the sheer number of them, plus my hectic schedule, it'll take me a little while to get to them, and b.) they're gonna be pretty short-n'-sweet, like the last couple have been. That's all, and happy reading!**

* * *

The throbbing in Peter's head has gotten worse.

It started as a dull ache, nothing more than a nuisance, really. Over the course of a few days, however, that ache progressed into a pounding throb that pressed at his temples until he thinks his head will burst. But when Tony tells him the team's got a training session that morning, he says yes, praying to God he won't regret it.

"Hey, Spidey!"

Peter answers Tony's greeting with a smile and a wave, then pads across the room to join him and the rest of the team as Steve goes over the day's agenda.

"-int and Tony are on the ropes course; Thor, Nat, boxing; and Bruce, you'll start out on the track. Alright? Okay, let's go." Steve rattled off, and everyone made their way to their assigned stations, leaving Peter standing awkwardly by himself.

"Erm…Cap?"

Steve turned around and smiled warmly. "Hey, Peter. I figured we could spar together this round. Is that good with you?"

"Yeah, sure." Peter smiled against the growing pain in his head. He followed Steve to a mat in the center of the room and unzipped his hoodie top reveal his suit underneath. Pulling off his jeans and squaring himself on the mat, he willed his head to stop aching for a while.

"Ready?"

Peter nods, and they begin. He's not as quick and agile as he usually is. His headache must have dulled his spidey senses, and it shows. Twice Steve's fist almost clocks him in the face, and both times he just barely stumbles out of the way in time. His head feels like it's full of sparks, bursting and popping in his brain. They're making it impossible to pay attention to his surroundings over the millions of them going off at once.

He falls then-teeters over at a failed attempt to dodge another hit. When he does, the sparks explode and dance in front of his eyes, making him dizzy and sick with nausea. The floor tilts and he nearly falls over again as he stands up, but he steadies himself in time.

"You okay, Pete?"

Peter's eyes meet Steve's and his face burns as he drops his gaze to the mat and nods.

"Yeah. Just lost my balance, I guess."

He knows it's more than "just" that, but he's not about to back down on Captain America because of a little head cold. Steve considers his reply for a moment, studying him with his brows furrowed, but eventually his expression softens a bit and they continue.

All the while the pressure in Peter's head is building, making his brain feel fuzzy and disorienting as his vision clouds over and his heart thumps in his ears like a drum. And it hurts, making his next moves all defense, not even trying to strike Steve as he clumsily blocks blow after blow. He can tell Steve's slowing down, worried, so he does too. The change in pace is making it easier to fight back, until a crash from the ropes course has him losing his concentration, glancing over to his left to see what—

He should have seen the blow coming. But he didn't, and then time slows down as the back of Steve's hand connects with his skull. The force sends him flying backwards, knocking his head onto the mat once, twice. His head explodes, and what feels like a white-hot poker is tearing through his flesh, ripping it to pieces and then spreading like lava. He can't get away from it, and now there's more shouting, and someone is yelling his name. He groans and tried to press himself into the cool material of the mat to get away from it all, from the pain that starts deep inside where he can't reach it, then blazes outwards like a wildfire.

Peter feels two strong arms slipping underneath his trembling form. They're lifting him, and his head rocks backwards, sending a jolt of pain down his neck. He groans and tries to get away, but the arms only tighten as one hand cups the back of his head. And then he's moving, quickly, over ground, but his jostled mind tells him he's falling, deeper into the swarm of darkness waiting for him. He gives in and allows himself to fade away.

* * *

Steve has been cursing himself for over a day now. He knew something was up when Peter showed up to training acting sluggish, and yet he said nothing. Instead he knocked his lights out, and now the poor kid's been out cold in med-bay with a fever and a concussion. The fever part explains why he was so off, but the concussion? That's on Steve. He insisted on staying up in med-bay with Peter, to wait until he woke up, and, after a lot of debating with Bruce, he did just that. Now he's shifting uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair he's sitting in, lifting his arms high above his head as his back bones pop. Tony's been pretty miffed with him, too, but after countless apologies he got exasperated and softened a little. If only Steve could treat himself that way.

A small groan has him pausing mid-stretch to see Peter cracking his eyes open wearily. The poor kid looks like he's been run over by a semi, and there's no doubt in Steve's mind that he feels the same way, too.

"Peter?"

Peter hums and looks to his right to see Steve watching him with eyes filled with so much guilt and concern that it's painful to look at. He offers a meek smile.

"Hey, Cap."

Steve's shoulders relax a little in relief. "Hey kid. How's your head?"

"Not so great."

The tension in Steve's face heightened. "I'm so sorry, Peter, I didn't mean to hit you." _But you did,_ the little voice in his head whispered. _You meant to strike him. he just couldn't block it._ "I mean, I never meant to-"

"It's okay." Peter cut in. "It's not your fault this happened." He gestured towards his head.

"What? No, Peter, I'm the one who knocked you into next week." Steve fought back.

"And I'm the one who didn't tell you that I was sick and wasn't up for it." Peter pressed. "Really, Cap, it's okay. I just got a little bruise."

Steve gave a breath of a laugh. "That's an exaggeration."

Peter nodded, sending tiny firecrackers up his skull. He winced and Steve sighed again.

"But even so, I'm still partly to blame. And I'm sorry, Peter. I really am." He dropped a hand to Peter's knee, his eyes watching him carefully, as if waiting for a reaction.

"Don't worry about it." Peter said. He met Steve's gaze with his own and tried to say everything he couldn't put into words. It must have worked, because a moment later all of Steve's tension seemed to melt away and he smiled. Genuinely.

"Okay. You win."

"Good. And besides," Peter said, grinning. "Don't think I didn't hear you swearing up a storm after I fell."

Steve laughed. "I guess some things are more important."

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, let me know in the reviews! They always make my day. :) You know the drill for prompts by now, I'd think, but, as usual, the idea box is always open to y'all. (I'd especially like to see some dialogue prompts to shake things up a little! ;) ) Anyways, thank you so much for reading, and I'll see you all in a bit. G'night!**


	5. I Cannot Believe You Two

**A/N: Mm-kay, you guys, we have an itty-bitty fic tonight! I have been frying my brain all night trying to write a decent paragraph for I'll Write My Way Out (my Hamilton fic) and I needed a break. So, here is a lil sickfic with both Tony and Peter out sick. (Awesome prompt from Sissysbuddy!). Because really, when they're sick, Bruce must have a migraine for a week. Thank you all so much for your patience in waiting for this update—another reason it's short is because of my worst enemy: finals week. My last dying brain cell is still struggling to remember algebraic formulas! :'(**

 **(Also, I am completely and totally convinced that having Tony sick is like having a sarcastic 14-year-old-sick, and will write it as such.) Enjoy!**

* * *

"I cannot believe you two," Bruce said, sighing as he gestured wearily towards Peter and Tony, both of whom were flushed red at the cheeks and coughing on opposite ends of the couch. "Peter, you have the track record, I'll give you that, but Tony?" he sighed again at the two sick figures, then glanced towards the thermometers lying on the end table. "A hundred and two degrees, Tony. Good Lord."

Tony glared at him over his tissue box. "Shut it, Banner." His croaking voice made the threat lose its seriousness, making him glare all the more. Bruce raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly.

"I'm gonna go get some blankets and medicine. Don't go anywhere." He bustled out of the room, still shaking his head.

"Can't believe…you got me…sick." Tony rasped out once he was gone. Peter smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"Hey, I told you that you didn't have to babysit me last week. But nooo," Peter replied snarkily, dragging the last word out. "Stay home with the sick kid and complain about it later."

"When did you get so sarcastic?"

"Only since I've started spending time with you."

Tony sighed and grumbled out something along the lines of "damn kid's probably right" and flopped against the couch cushions. He and Peter sat in silence for a few moments, their burning throats reminding them that talking was not an excellent idea at the moment. Finally, after blowing his nose loudly, Peter spoke up.

"I, uh…thanks, Mr. Stark." Tony looked up.

"For what?"

"For staying with me last week when I had that nasty fever."

"Oh." Tony was silent for a few moments, touched. He hadn't thought him taking care of Peter meant so much to the kid. "…Anytime, bud."

Peter gave a small smile and scooted closer to the older man. "Well, as long as Bruce doesn't put us in quarantine, we might be able to get through a couple seasons of _The Office._ " Tony chuckled softly.

"Sure, kid. Fire her up."

* * *

Bruce returned five minutes later to see Tony and Peter with their eyes glued to the screen of the large T.V., laughing at a joke Jim just cracked. He smiled as he tossed them a couple blankets, which Peter took eagerly, bundling himself into a little cocoon before settling back down by Tony's side. Tony smiled and ruffled Peter's hair affectionately before downing a cup of cough syrup Bruce handed him with a grimace.

"You know I'm not done lecturing you two yet?" the doctor asked once Peter had drank an identical cup.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Tony said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Just wait until this episode's done, hm?"

Bruce laughed. "Tony, this is a _two hour long_ holiday special."

"All the more reason to wait till the end." Peter replied, grinning. Bruce shook his head, still smiling exasperatedly.

"Fine, fine. Enjoy the show. Call if you need anything, okay?" he smiled again at Peter's nod. "Okay. I'll be in my lab."

Tony let out a huff of laughter and wrapped an arm around Peter's shoulders. He usually hated being sick, but maybe if this was how it'd turn out, laughing till it hurt over _The Office_ with his favorite prodigy…Maybe then it wouldn't be so bad.

Besides, he would take care of his sick Spidey-kid any day of the week, even if he had the plague himself.

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, okay, so I know this one is super short, but I've been struggling with my Hamilton fic all week and I felt the need to finish** ** _something._** **Anything, really. So here this is. Don't worry, I'll probably have longer ones coming up, maybe even a few more using this prompt, we'll see. Once semester ends I'll have much more time for this stuff. :) But anyways, thank you so much for reading, and feel free to send me a review or prompt. And special thanks to Sissysbuddy for the prompt! This fic is for them especially. :D G'bye!**


	6. Appendicitis (Really Sucks)

**A/N: Hey y'all! Today I present to you the prompt I was struggling with ever since I first got it. Not your fault, surgery scenes always challenge me a bit! Very glad I got it done, and I apologize for the wait. Thank you to ilovecartoonsgirl and Sicklilspidey for the appendix prompt. (I know this isn't exactly what you suggested Sicklilspidey, but I already had this one half-done! :) ) Is it 100% evil that I make even a non-sick Tony suffer in this way? XD**

 **So glad you joined me again, and I'll leave you to it.**

* * *

Tony Stark wasn't a doctor; that much he knew.

What he _did_ know, through deductive reasoning and educated guesses, was that appendicitis _sucked._

He was hitting himself for being so damn stupid earlier. Peter had showed up at the lab, slower than usual and complaining of a stomachache. And what did he do? Instead of having FRIDAY run a scan or asking when it started, he joked about the kid eating too many chips and kept working. He ignored it—ignored _Peter._ And look where it landed him. In the med-bay, with his kid in agony.

Peter was writhing on a stretcher, Helen Cho giving orders left and right to the medical staff surrounding him. It felt like there was a band around Tony's heart, strangling him until he feared he might burst. Peter was seeking him out frantically as terrifying words like _"emergency"_ and _"surgery"_ and _"anesthesia"_ were tossed around him. Tony filled in the gap between them instantly, squeezing in between two nurses, and Peter clung to his hand.

"M'ser Stark…"

"Yeah?" Tony fought with every fiber of his being not to sound panicked. He had to be calm for the kid. "What is it, kiddo?"

"Jus' hurts…r'lly bad…" Peter's face twisted. He looked like he was fighting off tears.

"Hey, hey, it's gonna be okay, bud. You hear? You're gonna be alright."

A nurse tried for the second time to insert an IV into the crook of Peter's arm. He didn't even flinch.

"He's in _pain."_ Tony said to Cho, tension lacing his voice.

"I know, Tony, and as soon as the IV is in we can get him some pain meds and anesthetize him for surgery." Tony hated how calm she was in the midst of his personal hell.

Peter's grip tightened on his hand so much so that he thought his fingers might snap. He'd forgotten how strong this kid was. "Is that really necessary?"

"Pain meds, or surgery?" Cho asked, stopping whatever she was doing with a heart monitor to look at Peter.

"Both."

"I'm sorry Peter, but yes. If we don't do this surgery, something could rupture, and besides; with your healing factor, you'll be better in no time."

Peter sighed and Tony brushed a hand through his curls. "It'll be alright, bud."

"You'll stay?"

"Of course I'm staying."

"Then okay, I guess."

Everything happened so quickly after that. Peter's IV finally went in successfully and the anesthesiologist knocked him out. Monitors were placed, prep completed, and the surgery was ready.

Tony had never been so terrified of operations in his life.

* * *

Peter woke up slowly.

Besides the fact that he was incredibly drowsy, he was also very comfortable at the moment. He was on something soft and warm, and everything was fairly quiet, save for the monotonous beeping and whirring of monitors. He cracked his eyes open. Everything was white and silver and bright. No, it would be best to just sleep for a bit longer now. Yes, that would be nice.

"Peter? You coming out of it, bud?"

Or not. He recognized that voice. He thought he liked it, but couldn't quite place why. Maybe he should find out. He opened his eyes again.

"FRIDAY, lights at fifty percent."

Oh, that felt nice. Peter looked around the dim room. There was no one else there, except for…

"M'ser S'rk?"

"That's me, kiddo."

"I though' they were gon' take my a'pendix."

"They already did. You're done."

"Oh." News to him.

"Why don't you go back to sleep, buddy? Let the meds do their thing."

 _That_ was an excellent idea.

* * *

Tony sat for three hours on a hard, plastic chair beside Peter's bed. Besides making a mental note to add some cushioned ones on his next visit, he spent those hours berating himself. Staring at Peter's peaceful face helped a fraction, but every time he closed him eyes, all he could see was that same face pinched in pain. He dropped his head in his hands and sighed.

A hand rubbed a knot in his shoulder gently.

"Tony?"

"Hey Pep." Tony lifted his head. Pepper was smiling sympathetically.

"Helen told me what happened. I called May, she's on her way right now."

"Thank God."

"How are you holding up?" Pepper pressed her lips together when Tony didn't respond. "This wasn't your fault, Tony."

"I _ignored_ it, Pep. I didn't do anything, and it got worse. And that's on me."

"You're right," Pepper said, smiling at her husband's now betrayed expression. "That's on you. But you know what else is?" Tony grunted. "Ha, no. So is making sure he got to med-bay as soon as you realized. So is comforting him through your own breakdown. And so is staying with him right now, when I can tell for a fact that your back is in agony."

Tony let himself give a wry smile. "Is it that obvious?"

"Very. Now go, get yourself some coffee. I'll wait here until you get back."

"You're sure?"

Pepper rolled her eyes. _"Go_ , Tony."

And he did.

* * *

Peter awoke once more to a soft murmuring of voices around him. He was still comfortable, but in an irritated sort of way. The fuzziness in his head was getting old, and he had a feeling he was missing out on something important. He wanted to get up. Slowly, he opened his eyes and fumbled around groggily. The voices stopped and a hand met the small of his back while another messed with the bed's controls until he was sitting up slightly. Peter blinked a few times and looked around.

"M'ser S'rk?"

The voice sounded relieved when it spoke. "Yes, Mr. Parker?"

"Why's Ms. Potts here?" he yawned. "Isn' she s'possed to be at work?"

"Not today." Another voice said, this one softer and calmer than the other. "But look, Peter. May's here."

"May? You—wha?"

"Right here, baby." May Parker ran a gentle hand through his curls. Hm. That felt good.

"Wha's ev'ryone doing here?"

"Just saying hi," May said. "You're a bit of a celebrity now."

"I am?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Oh. That's nice." Peter paused, considering. "Is it 'cause 'm Spiderman?"

"No," Tony said. Unnatural fondness was creeping into his voice, and he smiled. "It's because you're Peter."

* * *

 **A/N: Ta-da! I am so glad I was able to get this thing done after a few weeks, haha. (I think it ended up being more about Tony's guilt than Peter's agony, whoops!) You ever get that thing where you have a million unfinished ideas and your brain refuses to focus on just one? XD. Thank y'all so very much for reading, and special thanks again to the fabulous ilovecartoonsgirl and Sicklilspidey. Hope you two liked it! I might do another appendix fic, because I have a few other ideas I could run with if I feel like it. Thanks again, and if you enjoyed, please leave a review and a prompt if you'd like. You know the drill. Ciao! :)**


	7. It's Worse Than I'll Tell You

**A/N: Hello again, kiddos! This is my first Irondad Bingo prompt: "Complaining about pain that's actually worse than they're letting on." I'll still be doing regular requested prompts and such, but I figured I'd give bingo a go, too. Enjoy! :D**

* * *

 _"Ouch."_

Tony glanced up from his StarkPad as Peter stumbled through the living room's entryway. He was lightly massaging a spot on his side, face screwed up in a carefully contained grimace. Tony knew that face. That was Peter's _I went on patrol and got my ass kicked_ face _._ By now Tony was used to seeing—and dealing with-it, but that didn't mean it was any less painful for him to see his kid in such a state. Usually patrols were less… _intense_ …that team missions, which is why Tony and May agreed he could continue them. But there were always exceptions. At least this time wasn't as bad as the last time Peter came back to the compound—broken and bloody and trying not to sob and generally looking like he'd been through a meat grinder. Tony had personally made sure that the high-tech muggers who did it would never see the light of day through their prison cells again.

But that was last week. Today, he had this Peter to evaluate.

"You look wonderful this evening."

"Duh." Peter plopped down on the couch and flipped on the TV, but the remote was snatched out of his hand. He groaned as Tony switched the screen back off and swiveled to face his protégé.

"Not what I meant. What happened?"

"Went on patrol. Had some fun."

"You don't _look_ like you're having fun." Tony retorted.

Peter snorted. "Past tense, Mr. Stark. I _had_ fun." He made a grab for the remote with no success.

"Who and why? It wasn't those muggers again, was it?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Can't you just pull up my suit's logs and find that out for yourself?"

"Sure. But I want to hear it from you instead."

"Fine." Peter sighed. "Couple of guys impersonating officers. Had a stun gun and everything."

"A stun gun?" Tony's attention drifted back to the way Peter was leaning awkwardly.

"No, they didn't get me with it," Peter replied, as if reading his mind. "Got in some pretty decent hits, though."

"How decent?"

Peter laughed halfheartedly. "What is this, an interrogation?"

"Maybe." Tony fixed him with a piercing stare, and Peter cracked.

"Okay, okay, maybe it hurts a _little_. But it's definitely not the worst I've dealt with."

Tony rubbed at his forehead. "Not exactly what I'd call comforting, but all right. Your new batch of super meds are in the downstairs fridge."

Peter smiled as he hopped up carefully and walked out of the room. Tony watched him go with a nagging feeling in his chest.

 _That kid couldn't lie to save his life._

* * *

The next day Tony's worries were confirmed. Peter showed up at the Compound for their More-Than-Weekly-Mentoring-Session with not only a lack of enthusiasm, but also a hunched-over stature that did little to help his stuttered protests that it "wasn't that bad." Before he could do otherwise, he was being steered into the medbay by Tony.

"Nope," Tony was saying. "You can tell me nothing's the matter _after_ Cho checks you out."

"Dr. Cho is here?" Peter asked, momentarily sidetracked. "I thought she had, like, a convention in Florida or something."

"She does. You've got about three minutes before she hits the road, so get moving." In perfect honesty, Tony had made a direct phone call to Cho the night before, proposing she stay another three hours in New York in exchange for a ride to Tampa on one of his fastest private jets. She agreed, as long as it had a fully stocked snack bar. ("You know how science makes you hungry.")

"Fine, fine," Peter was sighing. "But I'm not gonna be happy about it."

"Never said you had to be. Here we are." They stepped through the sliding medbay doors. Cho was waiting for them.

"Tony, Peter, hello," she said with a smile. "What brings you here today?"

Peter muttered something like "Tony's overprotectiveness," and Tony thanked the Lord that Cho had pretended like she had had no idea already. No need to get the Spiderling even more aware of that little tidbit of information.

"Okay," Cho was saying as Peter hopped up gingerly onto the awaiting exam table. "Can you show me where it hurts, Peter?"

"Left side, kind of." Peter said. Cho felt around carefully on each one, just to be sure. When she reached the spot just below his ribs, Peter winced and pulled away slightly. Cho apologized but kept prodding, if a bit lighter. Peter remained more stoic after that, but it was still apparent he wasn't having the time of his life. Tony watched with his arms crossed, though his brows were knitted in concern. After a few moments, Cho pulled away.

"No fractured ribs as far as I can tell," she said, and Tony breathed a silent sigh of relief. "However." Tony took back the sigh. He wasn't overly fond of the word _however,_ because all it had led to so far was either bad news or a heart attack. Maybe both.

Cho was still talking. "Even though your advanced healing factor has well kicked in by now, I'd still like to see what kind of bruising you have going on there."

Okay. That wasn't so bad, was it?

Peter pulled off his shirt carefully.

 _Scratch that._

It was, indeed, very bad. Peter's left side was more marbled purple and blue than it was white. The dark bruises crisscrossed and spattered like somebody had flung paint at a canvas and smeared it about. They stretched across his abdomen, wrapping around from his hip to his upper ribs. More cuts and scrapes littered his shoulders and chest.

In a word, gruesome.

Tony's mind went completely blank for a moment, before kicking into high gear. _Whodidthis-whydidPeternottellme-shitshitholyshi—_

"Tony?"

Tony forced himself out of the muddy panic and looked up. Peter was watching him worriedly, even as Cho pressed on his wounds more.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine, kid. Unlike a particular webslinger."

"Jeez, Mr. Stark, I'm all right." Peter stared him down defiantly.

Tony had to press down his anger. "This," he said, gesturing sharply at the mess before him, "Is not 'all right.' At _all_." He was rubbing at his wrists—Peter recognized it immediately as one of his nervous tics.

Peter knew to stop insisting after that. Tony dropped himself in a chair and held his head in his hands. Cho, meanwhile, seemed on a mission. She spared a sympathetic glace at the two before opening steel cabinets and drawers, pulling out various supplies. She set to work, quickly swabbing down Peter's scrapes and cuts with disinfectant, applying cream to the worst of the bruises, and ordering up another dose of super-spider pain meds. Peter looked between her and Tony the entire time, guilt seeping into his bones.

He never meant to make Tony look at what happened. In the past, if he kept quiet and took the meds, he was able to keep it all under wraps. But now, he realized, he couldn't do that—not without feeling the pangs of guilt he was now. Maybe he wouldn't go boasting the small stuff. But Tony deserved to know when it got bad.

Cho left with a smile and a "call Bruce or I if the pain lasts longer than a few days," along with a "and it was nice to see you Peter. You too, Tony."

The doors slid shut behind her and Peter hesitated before pulling his shirt back on and hopping off the exam table. He sat down on the chair next to Tony and sighed.

"I'm sorry."

Tony raised his head and pressed his lips together. "No. Not your fault." He paused, looking Peter over. "Ish."

Peter gave a wet chuckle. "I can work with 'ish.'"

They both sat in silence for a moment. Then,

"So can I."

Peter looked over towards Tony. "Yeah?"

"Yeah….but you have to tell me about this stuff. I get why you don't want to freak out May. But trust me, kid. There's a pretty high chance I've seen way worse."

Peter smirked. "Wanna bet?"

 _"No."_ Tony threw an arm around Peter and hugged him closer, careful of his bad side. "My therapist works hard enough as it is. I'd have to start paying extra."

Peter scoffed. "You wouldn't care."

"About the money?" Tony ruffled Peter's curls. "No. I've got more important things."

* * *

 **A/N: Aaand that's a wrap! This was a blast to write. Anyone else enjoy those protective Tony feels as much as I do? Thank you to the Irondad Bingo tumblr, and to y'all for reading. Your comments make my day, so please leave 'em! I'll see you guys later.**

 **-A.A.13**


	8. Pepper Cares For Peter

**A/N: Hello again, kiddos! This is a little prompt sent in via Reidseeker in the reviews. Thank you! :) Also, this formatting might look a bit different, as I'm using Google Docs to write it, so we'll see how that goes.**

 **Pepper's gonna take care of Peter for a change, yeah?**

* * *

Pepper shut the front door to the lakehouse with a soft sigh, dropping her purse and keys on the counter and pulling out her phone to let Tony know she was home.  
 _Just got back_ , she typed. _When will you be here?_  
Tony replied almost immediately. _Soon. But Peter's still there._  
Pepper sent back a heart emoji and slid off her heels with a relieved huff. Board meetings were exhausting, especially after the chaos that was Thanos. There was so much to be done, after all. Families needed housing, children to be reunited with parents, the general public had to be reassured there was a plan of action for _next time._ Pepper pressed her lips together at the thought. She prayed to dear God that the next time wouldn't involve her family. Never mind that now, though. They were all alright now, something she reminded herself of daily. Soon she would be able to handle all SI work without public appearances, but until then, she had moments like this.

Glancing up at the ceiling, she asked, "FRI? Where are my kids?"  
"Peter and Morgan are in Morgan's bedroom." There was a pause. "I believe Peter is in mild distress."  
"What?" Pepper slid out of her jacket and started running up the stairs in one fluid motion, leaving the garment discarded on the entryway floor. Having Morgan's bedroom on the top floor of their home gave her a fantastic view of the stars, but it also meant that at times like these, Pepper wished halfheartedly for an elevator. No matter, however. She was perfectly happy to leave the bustling ways of the metal city behind.

She knocked once on the bedroom door before pushing it open and stepping inside. Peter was leaning against Morgan's bed frame, eyes squeezed shut and looking white as a sheet. A fine sheen of sweat was covering his face. Morgan was beside him, clutching a stuffed whale and using a toy stethoscope to listen to Peter's heartbeat. She caught sight of her mother and jumped up.  
"Mommy!"  
Pepper bent to plant a kiss on Morgan's forehead, then knelt in front of Peter.  
"Peter got sick, Mommy," Morgan said, nodding gravely as she spoke. "He has a temp'ture."  
"Thank you, sweetheart. How about you go and pick out a good movie to watch while Mom helps Peter?"  
"Okay!" The beaming five-year-old dashed out of the room. Pepper turned her attention back towards Peter, who was sitting up straighter and trying to flash a grim smile at her.

"Hey." he said tiredly. "How'd the meeting go?"  
"You sound horrible," Pepper replied, ignoring the question and pressing the back of her hand to Peter's forehead. The teen was practically radiating heat. "But it went well," Pepper went on, talking more loudly as she grabbed a washcloth from the adjoining bathroom and wet it with cold water. "As well as I could've expected, anyway." she draped it over Peter's forehead and he gave her a grateful sigh. "But that's not important right now. When I asked you to babysit Morgan, I didn't mean you had to come with a fever."  
"It didn't seem so bad this morning." Peter said.  
"And now?" Pepper raised an eyebrow.

"Now I feel like shit." Peter relented, laughing.  
"I figured. How you kept Morgan entertained like that, I don't know. But how about I make you some soup and let you rest for a bit? Can you stay the night?"  
Peter considered. May was working the late shift all week, and it _would_ be nice to get some pampering from Pepper….  
"Sure, thanks."  
Pepper smiled warmly. "Perfect. Do you need help getting up?"  
"Nah, just gimme a minute." Peter grunted and heaved himself to his feet. He straightened himself up, froze in place, and then swayed abruptly. Pepper cried out and steadied him, leading him to sit on the edge of Morgan's bed. "You with me?" she asked, as Peter blinked rapidly a few times.  
"Woah."  
"Yeah, Tony's gotten that more than once before. How about you sit here for a minute while I get you some water." It was said like a statement, not a question, and Peter wasn't about to argue either way. But before Pepper could say anything else, his stomach lurched horribly, and he was up and stumbling blindly into the bathroom. He hunched over, face twisted in misery as his stomach turned once, twice...he gagged and his face screwed up in misery as he retched. Pepper was crouched behind him, rubbing his back soothingly and murmuring encouragements. A few painful minutes, and then he was dry heaving, trying miserably to bring in air only to choke all over again. Pepper wiped his brow and the back of his neck gently with a cool washcloth, and handed him a glass of water once it finally passed.

Peter took it gratefully and wiped his mouth with a groan. He drained the glass in one go. "Sorry."  
"Don't be," Pepper said, helping him to his feet. "This isn't my first time with a sick kid."  
"Yeah, but I still feel guilty about it."  
"Well, when you get better, I can tell you about the Great Christmas Fiasco of 2010. If you think this is bad, you should've seen Tony and I with double food poisoning."  
"Wait, seriously?" Peter grinned as the two made their way to his guest bedroom. "Mm-hmm. Worst vacation ever." Peter was deposited on the bed. All he really wanted to do was pass out for a few hours, but a bottle of Gatorade was shoved in his hand first. He pulled a face.  
"You have to drink that before I can give you anti-nausea meds," Pepper said. "And if you do, I'll tell you the whole story." she tilted her head expectantly. Peter cracked open the bottle and chugged. Pepper laughed and began.  
"We went to this nice restaurant for Christmas Eve. It had the worst shrimp I'd ever tasted, and we'd both find out why that night…"

Soon, drowsiness, paired with a ridiculously comfortable bed and Pepper's low, calming voice washing over him (no matter what story it was telling), had Peter drifting off to sleep.

* * *

"My God, he did outdo himself, didn't he?"

Peter awoke groggily, blinking a few times to make out the two blurry figures hovering near his bed. His head felt like it was made of fuzz, his throat felt as though he had spent the past two years screaming, and he thought maybe falling back asleep for an indefinite amount of time would be quite nice, really.  
The figures at the side of the bed stopped warping before his eyes and he grinned sluggishly. "Hey, M'ser Stark."  
Tony raised both eyebrows. "Why, hello there, Mr. Parker. You seem to be in a prime condition for taking care of a child."  
Peter groaned. "It was only for a few hours. And I was feeling okay."  
Tony looked like he was about to say more, but Pepper was giving him one of her _looks._ "It's almost eight, sweetie," she said. "How does soup sound?"  
"It sounds great." Peter said. As Pepper went to heat some up, he turned to Tony, who had plopped himself in the cushy armchair in the corner of the room. His feet were propped up on Peter's bed. "Um, hey," Peter started. Tony looked up from his phone. "I didn't get Morgan sick, did I?"  
"Oh, she's in the ER now for pneumonia." Tony said flippantly. Peter's face went white just as Pepper shouted from downstairs.  
 _"Tony!"_

Tony gave a huff of laughter. "I swear, she can hear everything. But seriously, Pete. Morgan's fine, just put her to bed. I think the only thing that can take her down at this point is a sugar crash. And besides," he continued, smiling encouragingly. "Even if you did happen to give her a bug, I would still let you babysit her. As long as you've got a clean bill of health, that is."  
Peter gave an involuntary sigh of relief. "Thank God."

Pepper came back then, a tray full of tissues, cough syrup, and hot soup in hand. She and Tony helped prop Peter up on extra pillows and he nearly devoured the soup. The nausea from earlier was gone, replaced with raging hunger. He, Tony, and Pepper chatted amiably about school and MJ and the Hawaii trip Pepper had took upon herself to plan as he ate. ("If Tony had it his way, we'd go right now as we are and buy everything we need there.")

Peter was hit with a wave of exhaustion soon after, and suddenly that whole "sleeping" thing seemed wholly satisfying. The tray was slipped away from his clumsy grasp and he fell against the stack of pillows. Just before he dozed off, he saw Pepper turn to Tony and whisper underneath her breath.

"You know he adores you."  
Peter faintly registered Tony's lips moving in response, but he couldn't catch what he said as he slipped away.

* * *

 **A/N: Aaand there we go! Gotta love those family feels, especially when a protective Pepper is involved. Please drop in a review to let me know what you thought! :D**

 **'Til we meet again,**  
 **A.A.13**


	9. Even If We're Crushed

**A/N: It's been a hot minute, hasn't it? I've been so busy with semester and my other writing that I guess I haven't done much for my fics lately. (*Nervously sweats over countless WIPs from over a year ago.*)**

 **I've been itching to write Sam and Bucky, so that's what you get.**

* * *

Everything was going one-hundred-percent according to plan, Bucky thought to himself wryly. He dragged a hand over his face and exhaled a huff of laughter. Mother of angels, this was just perfect. It was supposed to be a routine surveillance mission. Camp out for a while, talk in low voices, maybe play a few rounds of Go Fish. Just him, Sam, and Peter. Bucky hadn't questioned bringing the kid along when he'd asked-after all, there wasn't supposed to be any actual combat involved. And Steve had insisted it would be good training for him.

They had been sitting in a barren room on the upper floor of an office building for a few hours when it happened. There was a split second before the explosion when Bucky's gut pulled at him sharply. Maybe it was the sudden alertness in Peter's posture, the way his eyes went wide, the half-formed _"go!"_ of his mouth right before everything was blown to shreds. There was no time to react. No time to even begin to process what was happening. Hell, Sam had still been snacking on carrot sticks when it went off.

Then all was ringing and silent, and thick dust was choking out the light.

It was Sam that called out first, loud and clear, but with underlying panic. Bucky groaned and pulled himself up from where he was lying underneath mounds of sheetrock. Coughing, he saw Sam though the haze. Relief flooded through him, but was squashed out with twice the force just as quickly.  
Sam was frantically digging through the mess of rubble before them. His bloody hands tore through the piles of metal and wood and whatever else was there. He was yelling.

Yelling for Peter.

The air left Bucky's lungs as he dropped to his knees on the other side of the room and dug with him. _He killed Tony's kid. He just killed Tony Stark's sixteen-year-old kid_. His metal hand ripped through the wreckage like it was nothing. Two voices called out and echoed through the chalky air. _Spiderman? Peter! Talk to us, kid!_

Finally, _finally,_ after a solid two minutes that burned like hell, they found him. Well, Sam found him. His hand. Decked out in that flashy red and blue. They got through the rest of the crap covering him double time, exposing his chest, his legs, his head. Exposing a brief moment of stabbing panic in Bucky's chest that the kid really was dead. That they were too late, too damn stupid to realize it was all a trap. Sam pressed two firm fingers to Peter's pulse point.

"It's a little thready, but we've got him."

 _Good._ "Can we move him?"  
"I don't know."

That was when Peter woke up. Bucky thought it would've been a tad bit slower, maybe a smidge groggy. The reality of it was a far different story.

Peter woke up fighting. Fighting _them._

He took in a ragged gasp, his eyes flying open and darting around wildly. He panted for a moment, struggling to sit himself up, but Bucky reached out and pushed him back down by his shoulder. Peter took one look at the two dark figures hovering over him and _snapped_. He shrieked, flinging one arm out wildly as Bucky jerked his hands away. Heaving in breaths, hands scrabbling for purchase, he kicked out blindly. His foot connected with Sam's ribcage and the man cursed. Bucky held out his hands placatingly in front of him.

"Woah, woah, kid! It's just us. Bucky and Sam." he said, trying his best to talk him down. "We were on surveillance together, remember? It was a trap. Something exploded. But we're all okay," he went on, talking slowly, his voice low and calm. "You're okay. You're fine."  
Slowly, Peter stopped fighting. He slumped onto the concrete, panting, as his body relaxed onto the uneven ground.  
"There we go." Bucky did his best to smile.

"I-I should've-" Peter gasped.

"Don't." Bucky said firmly. Peter flinched and he sighed. "You and Stark have the most bizzare guilt complexes I've ever seen, and I live with Steve. Alaska could be destroyed by angry penguins and you'd still blame it on yourselves."  
Peter laughed weakly. "Penguins...don't live in...Alaska."  
"True, but beside the point," Sam broke in, standing up. "We have to get out of here. The entire building could collapse any day now, not to mention any other mystery bombs that could still be left over."  
"Sam's right. We need to move." Bucky said, though he couldn't ignore the way Peter paled at the mention of a collapse. He stayed where he was. "Think you're feeling up to standing now, punk?"  
"Uh...yeah. Yeah, we're good." But instantly upon standing up straight Peter lurched forward sickeningly. Sam lunged and caught him, settling them both back on the ground.  
"Okay, so that's a no." Peter groaned, holding one hand to his head. Sam pressed his lips together. "How bad does your head hurt?"  
"Not too m-"  
"Kid." Bucky gave him a sharp glare.  
"Fine, it's decent. But I'm not gonna black out again, I swear!"  
There was a distinct whine in his voice, and it struck Bucky once again that this was a child they were dealing with. A super mutant child with incredible strength and healing powers, but a minor nonetheless. Peter swayed slightly again, and Sam grabbed his arm, holding him up.

"Uh-huh. Alright, we've got no time for arguing here, Spidey, and you definitely have a concussion. Buck?"  
"Mm-hm." Bucky scooped Peter into his arms, ignoring his indignant squawk of protest, and followed Sam to the window. The Falcon flew out with ease, almost hiding that something was injured, and Bucky followed. He scaled down the side of the building while Peter gripped his shirt, muttering something about his webshooters being a whole lot easier to use.

* * *

Three days later, Bucky would hear a knock on his apartment door. He'd grumble and get up from his dinner to answer. He would look through the peephole and see no one, and the door would open to reveal a package. It wouldn't be brought inside until proven it wasn't another bomb. (He would eventually discover that Sam had thought the exact same thing when his doorbell was rung, too.)

That evening Bucky would tear the brown paper away to see a neon pink Post-it note.

 _This is from Mr. Stark, too. He just doesn't want to admit it._

 _-Peter_

Inside would be a little plastic keychain, like the type he'd seen at tourist shops, emblazoned with the words _"I Survived My Fifty-Second Mission Gone Wrong_. _"_

He would take one look at it and laugh, chucking it across the room.

* * *

 **A/N: That's a wrap! Not gonna lie, I enjoyed doing this one. Thank you for reading!**

 **(I guess this is where I put in that reminder that fanfiction isn't really...free? I'm a big believer in sending support to writers of fanfiction, so I think I'm gonna get on my soapbox here for a sec. A few kind words mean more than you could imagine, especially when writing, editing, and editing again can take me hours to do. (and this isn't to say you guys aren't amazing! I've recieved a lot of support here, and my heart overfloweth with gratitude.) If you don't know what to say, just put in a detail you liked, or even just a "Thank you!" or "This made my day!" Stuff like that is so awesome, you guys. I love making stuff you enjoy, but it gets a little rough if nothing is done in return. And that goes for all fandoms and fics and writers out there. Sometimes we just need validation! :) *Steps off soapbox.***

 **Alright, so I can't guarantee any updates for the future, but any published WIPs will be finished eventually, and I'm definitely not abandoning any of this! Thank you for reading. You guys rock.**  
 **-A.A.13**


	10. One Hundred Percent

**A/N: Hello again! Thank you to RandomFanfics131 (Guest) for suggesting a stressed-out fic. Oh, and check out the note at the end for an important update. Enjoy!**

* * *

Peter was absolutely, 100% fine.

Definitive. Final answer. No take backs.

At least, that was what he was telling himself.

If he was being perfectly honest, he would tell you that he wasn't sleeping right anymore. That nightmares plagued his rest. He might say that he was letting Ned and MJ down, with all his flaking on plans in favor of sitting in his room alone. Or that his schoolwork, as easy and simple as it usually was for him, was suddenly impossible to focus on. That maybe he'd been slipping up more and more on patrols, letting people get hurt, too many people got hurt.  
If he was being perfectly honest, he'd probably break down and cry.  
So he told no one, of course. He couldn't let anyone hear rumors that their Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman wasn't in his prime. Instead he smiled when May asked him how he was doing, laughed at Tony's quips, and pretended like his lunch was far more interesting than participating in regular conversation. And it worked. To everyone around him, Peter Parker was fine. Normal, even.  
Peter didn't want to admit that this ruse had become his new normal.

The more he thought about it, the more he was letting it show accidentally. Like when Natasha asked him to pass her the dish of pasta during dinner at the Compound one night and his hands shook so badly he dropped it. Or when Sam started picking up on stuff, started asking him more often if he was doing alright.

The breaking point wasn't even a monumental point at all. It was just calculus homework, for crying out loud. It should have been a breeze-done in twenty minutes, tops. Instead he'd been pulling out his hair for two and a half hours, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

Tony showed up in the living room where Peter was working. He plopped himself down in an easy chair and stretched, a StarkPad gripped loosely in one hand. He glanced over to where Peter was sighing into his palms. "What's up, kid? Teachers killing you again?"  
"Sure." Peter picked up his pencil and leafed through his textbook absentmindedly, trying to find the page where they explained all this nonsense. At his short reply Tony's brow furrowed, and he peered at the packet at Peter's side.

"Calculus? I thought you loved calculus."  
Peter scoffed. "Yeah, until my teacher decided to not explain it right."  
Tony tilted his head. "Pete, you could do this stuff with your eyes closed. Since when do you need it explained to you?"  
 _Since I started not sleeping, probably,_ Peter thought. _Except for, you know, in class._  
"I dunno." he said instead.  
Tony nodded, looking suspicious. "Well, let me know if you need any help."  
Peter's mind screamed _yes!_ but he knew he'd be zoning out within a few minutes if Tony tried to teach him any of it. And that would look rude, right? He couldn't look ungrateful. So instead of accepting, he nodded with a "thanks" and went back to work alone.

* * *

Twenty minutes later and Peter was still on the same problem. He groaned quietly, resting his head on his textbook with a thud. Tony looked up from his StarkPad. "You okay there, bud?"  
There was that question again. _You okay?_ "Yeah, I'm fine."  
Tony made a buzzer sound. "Wrong answer." At Peter's look of confusion, he went on. "I've been watching you, kid. You haven't moved that pencil once. You wanna tell me what's really going on?"  
 _Eh, nope._ But Tony was watching him intently, and Peter was starting to think he really didn't have much of a choice. He decided to go for a half-truth.

"I've just been really stressed out lately."

Tony nodded. "How so?"  
"Oh. Uh…" Peter's brain raced frantically for a way out and short-circuited rather helpfully. "I guess school and Spiderman have just gotten to be…" _A burden._ "A lot."  
"Maybe you should take a break from patrols for a while."  
"What?" _No, no, no…_ "I can't do that!"  
"Sure you can, we all need time to r-"

"There are people in Queens who need me! If I don't-"  
"You aren't the only superhero in New York, kid," Tony interrupted. "In case you've forgotten, you've also got me-"  
"You're retired-"  
"Steve and his boyfriend-"  
"They're like 97 years old-"  
"Not to mention Sam-"  
"That's not the _point!_ " Peter shouted. The silence rang in his ears and he felt his face flush. "That's not the point," he repeated, much softer. Tony's eyebrows were raised, but he was listening, at least. "I-I have to be Spiderman. And Peter. And...whatever else I'm supposed to be. And I can't just quit one, you know? That'd be...cheating."  
A semblance of understanding crossed over Tony's face and he smiled. "Peter and Spiderman are the same person, bud. And you're allowed to take a break for as long as you need, okay? Trust me, the wonderful residents of Queens will be just fine." He leaned forward and gave Peter a long look. "And I'm always here if you need it."  
"Okay," Peter said, pressing his lips together. Maybe he'd take Tony up on that offer. Maybe.  
"In the meantime," Tony said, standing up and flicking one hand towards the TV, "I think we've got a Brooklynn Nine-Nine marathon due. Whaddaya say? I'll make some popcorn."  
Peter smiled genuinely now. "Yeah, okay. But…"  
"Forget about the homework, Pete," Tony said. He scooped up the various books and papers littering the couch and chucked them down a laundry shoot, grinning when Peter laughed in shock.

"You can't do that!"  
"Just did," Tony shrugged as he had FRIDAY start up the viewing. "Now come on, we have a show to watch."

* * *

The next morning Peter woke up on the couch where'd he'd fallen asleep halfway through the fifth episode the night before. Tony must have thrown a blanket over him, but the man was nowhere in sight.  
But before Peter could even sit up and breathe the morning air, the dread had settled in. He hadn't done that calculus packet, and it was _due the next day_ and-  
The sinkhole in his mind stopped crumbling as his eye caught something on the end table beside him. There was his calculus packet, with every answer filled in. Peter flipped through incredulously. On the last page was a fluorescent pink sticky note with Tony's familiar scrawl. _"You could do this in your sleep."_  
Peter huffed out a smile. Maybe he wasn't absolutely, definitively, 100% okay. But maybe he could get a little closer.

* * *

 **A/N: I know that ended abruptly, but I wanted to whip up something quick today. I hope you enjoyed! As always, thanks for reading.**  
 **Special reminder that my celebratory AUTHOR Q &A is currently open for asks! Send in the color(s) of your choice in the reviews or my PM box, and I'll reply both directly and on my profile. I would love to answer these, so please spam and send 'em in! :)**

* * *

 **Author Q &A Ask List: (Bolded have been answered!)**

Red: What type of writer's block do you experience the most?  
White: How did you choose your username?  
Black: Would you want to live in one of the fictional worlds you've created?  
 **Blue:** What's more important to you: characters or plot? (I think they have to work hand-in-hand, but if I had to choose one, probably characters! They bring the story to life.)  
Yellow: What's a common writing tip that you mostly ignore?  
Grey: What's a common writing tip that you almost always follow?  
Orange: How many projects do you usually have going at once?  
Pink: Which of your characters would become your best friend?  
Purple: Which of your characters would become your sworn enemy?  
Green: Pencil, typewriter, or computer?  
Brown: Do you have a set writing space? Or do you write everywhere?  
Silver: Are you comfortable writing in public places?  
Gold: Do your stories usually contain lessons or morals?  
Clear: Do your characters control where the story goes or do you maintain control?  
Tan: Are you open to co-writing a story?  
Bronze: How did you get into writing?  
Teal: Fun fact or two about yourself?  
Magenta: What's your favorite trope or headcanon?  
Opal: What is your favorite fic you've written and/or what do you think is your best fic?


	11. System Overload

**A/N: Hello again! It's been a hot, hectic minute, so to make up for it I accidentally wrote nearly 3,000 words for this one. This fic was inspired by a dialogue prompt sent in by CaptainMarvel123875, who was unbelievably sweet and reviewed all of my fics almost a year ago! I tweaked the prompt a little to fit with the theme, but I hope you like it!**

 **Update: I forgot to add this earlier, but Chocolate X My Mouth requested a fic featuring Peter and Wanda, so this is also for them!**

* * *

Peter could tell when it was going to happen, the sensory overloads. His head would start throbbing, then pounding, sometimes as soon as he woke up in the morning. Every little _scratch_ and _clink_ made his skin crawl with repulsion, and the slightest brush of contact with his clothing made him leap back like he'd been scathed. Sometimes, when it was really bad-bad beyond the point of migraines and blurry vision and extreme irritation at everything around him-he would completely shut down, just pass out wherever he was standing. Peter considered _that_ part a mercy.

When Mr. Stark had found out about his "episodes" after a poorly botched day in the workshop, he had pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed so deeply Peter thought that he might collapse from oxygen deprivation. After a thousand questions and a brief lecture about self-preservation, he sent Peter promptly to bed. Peter didn't argue. The next morning he had not only some fantastic upgrades to his suit, but noise-cancelling headphones and light blocking sunglasses as well. It was one of the best gifts he'd ever received. Now when an overload happened, whether on patrol or not, he could curl up in a quiet corner and block out the rest of the world.

That didn't change the fact that he hated them. It figured there would have to be a few downsides to the whole asthma-to-superpowers gig, but every time it happened it felt like there were giant, blinking letters stamped on the insides of his eyelids, repeating the same message over and over: _SYSTEM OVERLOAD._

Damn computers.

* * *

Peter could usually, _normally,_ be able to tell when one was coming on. If he paid attention, and used the stuff Mr. Stark had given him early on, and stayed on the lookout.

Some, however, were cruel. Those ones took him on by surprise.

* * *

He was fiddling with his pencil while he tried in vain to focus on his trigonometry homework at the Compound. This was being made difficult by Clint, who was busy flicking napkin shreds at him, and Wanda, who was berating Clint for flicking napkin shreds at him. Neither one caught the way he raked his fingers through his hair in agitation.

Why couldn't he focus? This stuff was supposed to be simple to him, it had made so much sense in class, so where had that part of his memory gone? He had _had_ it, he _knew_ how to do this, if his brain would just stop being a garbled mess and _remember_ already.

Another napkin scrap hit him in the face and he batted it away half-heartedly, rubbing at his aching temples.

"See? He's doing his schoolwork, let him learn." Wanda chided.

"Aw, Pete needs a break anyways, he's been at it for too long." Clint replied, balling up another wad and aiming. It hit Peter square on the nose.

"It's still not very nice-" Wanda started, but Peter cut her off, head thudding to meet his palm from where it was propped on his elbow.

"Stop." his voice was low and a little more croaky than he remembered. "Both of you. Just stop, please."

A beat.

"Okay, kid. I'm sorry." Clint said, and silence-well, there were still the heartbeats, the breathing, the hum of all the appliances, the bangs of construction workers fifteen floors below, but relative silence, sure-fell.

It was broken by the tinny _clink-a-clink-a-clink_ of Wanda stirring sugar into her steaming mug of tea. Just that sound alone drove grating spikes into his skull, like scraping metal against screeching metal until there were sparks.

Flooding his vision.

Oh, heavens, no.

Peter groaned and it reverberated in his skull as he cradled his head in his hands.

"Peter? Kid? What did I do this time, I swear I wasn't tryin'a-"

"No, no, not you," Peter mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. "Well, yeah, you, but also my head..."

"Your head?" Peter caught Clint glance desperately at Wanda for help. "I swear I didn't mean anything with those napkins, Pete." he held his hands up in surrender, frozen, as Peter covered his ears against the noise and shook his head despairingly.

"No, I don't think it's what you did," Wanda said, and _bless her,_ she had the sense to talk softly. She touched three cool fingers to the back of Peter's neck that snapped back just as quickly with a gasp as Peter full-body flinched away from her.

"What? What is it?" Now Clint was whispering, too, but harsher than Wanda's. "Peter? You alright?"

He shook his head again. "H'rts…"

"He's got an ear-splitting migraine." Wanda said, and she ran a hand up Peter's back soothingly. Or at least it was meant to be. His shirt rubbing against his skin felt like sandpaper and he shuddered, a whimper working its way past his lips.

"Is he cold?"

Wanda hummed. "FRIDAY, get Tony in here. Tell him about Peter."

" _Certainly, Ms. Maximoff."_

Peter curled up into his chair, pulling his knees up to his chest and cradling his head in his arms. Ugh, he _hated_ this part. It was skull-rocking, nauseating misery as the seconds dragged by without so much as a breather. He was barely holding on-he could tell that, at least.

* * *

He tried so, so hard to ignore Clint and Wanda as they tried their best to help, but everything was cranked up way past eleven, and it demanded to be seen, and heard, and felt. Even the smell of Clint's breath (chili cheese burritos, gross) from across the table. He didn't emerge from his poorly constructed, self-made cocoon until he heard the elevator doors slide open and footsteps rush toward him.

"Hey there, kiddo," Tony said gently, kneeling down in front of him. Peter cracked his eyes open and grimaced, causing the corners of Tony's mouth to turn down even farther, concern evident in his eyes. "You look terrible."

He didn't have the energy to form a response. Tony turned to Clint and Wanda. "What the hell happened?"

Clint's hands were still held frozen in surrender as she shook his head. "I don't know, man. He said something about his head feeling weird and then he just…" he flapped one arm at Peter.

"He's got a raging headache." Wanda said. Realization washed over Tony and he pressed his lips together in a wry smile, nodding.

"Sensory overload, huh, bud?"

Peter nodded weakly. "Eleven." he mumbled into his arm. Tony nodded again.

"Okay, I gotcha. FRIDAY, lights at fifty percent. Get Bruce to bring up the Blackout Procedure stuff."

The lights dimmed. Peter could distantly feel a hand running feather-light through his hair, a thumb rubbing at his temple. To his surprise, he melted into the touch. Clint was still frantically apologizing, his hands flying in a million questions as he switched to ASL. Peter waved a hand morosely in forgiveness. _Not your fault,_ he signed, his fingers clumsy and halting in his distractedness. _This just happens sometimes._ He didn't catch what Clint said next, but he guessed it was another interjection.

At one point Wanda hummed, whispering "May I?" Tony moved aside, and then cold hands were pressed to either side of his face. Before he could flinch back, a red mist filled his mind and he relaxed, almost bonelessly, into her. His mind was blissfully, wonderfully blank, free of pain. There were hardly even thoughts, just foggy calm. It was...heavy, Peter decided. Like a warm, weighted blanket. Wanda laughed, a single exhale.

"Better, моя любовь?"  
He nodded into her shoulder. "Loads."

They stayed like that for a few seconds (or minutes, time wasn't important right now) until the elevator opened again and Bruce stepped into the room, carrying something with him.

"Ah, there you are!" Tony said, but the sound was distinctly muffled in Peter's ears. "I'll take those, thank you."

He could practically feel the questioning finger Bruce was pointing his way.

"Oh, he'll be okay. His brain just got a little more input than ideal today."

"Mm. Feel better, Peter," Bruce said sympathetically, and Peter hummed in thanks. "I'll be in my lab if you need me."

The elevator doors slid shut again and a hand tapped his shoulder. Peter glanced up and Wanda pulled her hands away from their sweet embrace, sending Peter straight back into overload mode again. He groaned.

"Here, I've got your earbuds," Tony whispered. He held out the noise-cancelling headphones and Peter snatched them up from his palm,, fixing them in his ears firmly. _Silence. Wow, did that feel nice._ Not as nice as the mist did, but close. The earbuds blocked out most of the sounds around him, so that everything he heard was in a haze. They didn't stop the pain-his head still ached-but no new, jarring input helped it settle.

Tony's mouth moved in what Peter assumed was some variation of "How's that?" and he gave a weak thumbs-up.

"Everything sounds...underwater." he mumbled, eyes drooping closed.

 _Good._ Tony mouthed. _Bed?_

"Yes please."

* * *

Tony helped him stand and stumble his way over to the elevator, hovering next to him lest he should tip over. He carefully veered the teen out the sliding doors with expert precision, only to run smack dab into Sam the second they stepped into the hallway.

"Woah!" Sam cried, at the same moment Peter mumbled "Sorry, sorry-" and tried to regain his balance. Sam's brow furrowed and he reached out a hand to right him.

"Hey, what happened? Is he okay?"

"He will be," Tony supplied, moving himself and Peter past. "Sensory overload." Peter sent a tired wave over his shoulder and Sam smiled.

"Get some rest, then, kid."

When they reached his bedroom, Peter decided that that sounded like an _excellent_ suggestion and collapsed onto the bed, practically passing out right there on the cool sheets. He could only appreciate the reprieve for a moment before he felt Tony run a hand through his hair and he was _out_.

System shutdown.

* * *

 _Rebooting..._

* * *

Peter rubbed at his eyes blearily, rolling over and wrapping the blankets tighter around him. The piercing pain in his temples had settled into a dull throb, and when FRIDAY turned the lights on to a low dim, he was able to keep his eyes open without sparks wavering in his vision. He yawned and sat up, stretching. Light was filtering in around the edges of the blackout curtains hanging at his windows. It was morning, then?

"FRIDAY?" he murmured, pulling out his earbuds.

"Yes, Peter?"

"What time is it?"

"It is currently 10:35 in the morning of March eighth. You slept for over sixteen hours."

Peter rubbed his eyes blearily and nodded. "Is anyone else in the tower?"

"Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barton are currently in the training room, Ms. Maximoff is in her suite, and Doctor Banner and Boss are in their shared lab. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes have joined Mr. Wilson for a run, but should be back shortly."

Peter hummed and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Take me to the kitchen?"

"Certainly."

* * *

Lucky for Peter, the kitchen was stocked to the brim with breakfast foods. Housing several enhanced super-soldiers and even more regular humans with horrible moods if not properly fed did that to a place. In fact, Peter could recall seeing little snack bars set up all over the Compound-a minifridge and stacks of protein bars in the gyms, a bag of assorted dried fruits in Tony's lab, trail mix or popcorn seemingly always in a bowl on the living room's coffee table. Food was plentiful here, and boy, was Peter grateful for it. Sixteen and a half hours without eating was leaving his stomach growling painfully.

He had scarfed down three muffins and was trying to figure out how to use the waffle maker when Clint appeared. He leaned against the doorway in his workout clothes, sweat dripping off his forehead. He took a swig from his water bottle.

 _Morning, kid. How you doing?_ He signed. Peter smiled.

 _Way better,_ he signed back, then switched to speaking out loud. "If I could only figure out how to turn the darn waffle thingy on."

"Hey, coherent sentences are back," Clint said, ruffling his hair. "Your ears aren't bugging you any more, then?"

"Off and on," Peter replied, shrugging. "But not nearly as bad as last night."

"Good, good." Clint peered down at the waffle maker. "No, you don't want that setting. Thor tried it once and almost burned us all down."

"Seriously?" Peter hurriedly turned the dial in the opposite direction. "Okay, then." There was a pause as he poured the pre-made batter in and set the timer. He looked up at Clint shyly.

"I-uh-sorry about being kind of...an asshole, last night," he said, rubbing at his neck. "To you and Wanda, I mean. I know you were just kidding around, I shouldn't've-"

Clint cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Nah, bud, no worries. If I had that going on in my head, you'd all get a whole lot worse than that. Probably (definitely?) a lot of complaining, now that I think about it."

Peter smiled, and Clint smiled back.

"Okay, your waffles are burning."

Peter's eyes widened comically and he turned to save them.

"Why the _heck_ are they turning green?"

Clint only laughed.

* * *

Peter's sensory overloads became common knowledge around the tower after that. He didn't mind admitting that it helped. Tony was getting more and more able to catch them at the pass, able to pick up the little tics (that Peter was often too focused to realize himself) that one was likely brewing beneath the surface. Sometimes, if it was really bad and Wanda was around, she'd pull him close and run her ringed fingers through his curls. She would sit with him for a long time, his nose buried in the crook of her neck, letting the red mist wash away his pain. Afterwards she'd press a motherly kiss to his hairline and make him drink a cup of tea.

Bruce synthesized migraine medication for him. He learned that Steve and Bucky got them, too (although not as strong as his), and were able to give him a few things he could do to help himself get through them. Once Natasha caught him full-blown ignoring one so that he could train with her, and she let him go a solid ten minutes before she knocked his feet out from under him. She caught him before his head could slam into the mat and glared, ordering him to change and go upstairs or she'd tell Tony.

Peter obliged.

In all honesty, Peter never thought he'd see a day where he'd get a sensory overload and _didn't_ spend the rest of the evening curled up in the corner of his closet, because that was the only place in his and May's apartment that could be both relatively dark and quiet at the same time. He certainly never thought he'd have the _Avengers_ on his side, helping him through it-whether it was just some mild tension or full-blown agony. It made the episodes go from something he dreaded facing every week to a thing he could probably manage, if not by grumbling about it a little as he did. Either way, he was grateful.

* * *

Peter plopped himself down on the communal living room's couch in between Steve and Bucky, nestling himself into the blankets they threw over him the second he sat down. The opening scene of some movie blared, far too loud, and he startled, sending a bowl of pretzels flying.

"Oh, shoot, sorry-I'm sorry, here-" he scooped as many as he could back into the bowl, half muttering to himself. "-stupid reflexes, no, Steve, you don't have to-I got it-lemme just-" he dusted the blankets off, face red.

"Too loud, Pete?" Tony asked, already reaching for the remote.

"Oh-uh, yeah." he said sheepishly. "Maybe a little?"

"No problem."

Peter settled back into the couch with a wince. Bucky nudged his arm. "Senses dialed up again?"

Peter shrugged. "It's not that bad. Like, only a five or six."

"You sure?" Bucky scanned his face carefully.

"Yeah." Peter rested his head on his shoulder and closed his eyes. "It's all good."

Bucky wrapped an arm around him and squeezed lightly. "You got it, kid."

Peter hummed and let himself fall asleep.

* * *

He was pretty grateful, all right.

* * *

 **A/N: (моя любовь: my love)**

 **I was a little on the fence with this one, but I haven't updated in a** _ **long**_ **time and I figured getting something up would be nice. (Also, for anyone who has sent in prompts already, I promise I haven't forgotten those! Times are crazy, but I'm trying my best to get going on 'em.)**

 **If you're looking for more hurt/comfort, I've got quite a few Penny Parker fics up that are similar to these, but featuring Queens' favorite Spidergirl instead.**

 **And lastly, I'd love to do another author Q &A w/ y'all, so if that's something you're interested in, let me know!**

 **Thanks for reading, please send in a review if you enjoyed, and I'll see you next time.**


	12. Pepper(mint)

**A/N: I say this every time I update, but it honestly feels like I posted the last chapter only a week or two ago! Geez, my sense of time is being seriously warped here. Anyways, another longer chapter today!**

 **Over a year ago amanipaz requested a fic where Peter has an allergic reaction. I apologize for the huge delay, and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Peter looked absolutely _exhausted._

Pepper could see the dark half-moons underneath his eyes, the sluggish way he walked, how his hands shook and it took him a few seconds to register what was said to him. No matter how many times he brushed it off and claimed he was fine, the truth was still there in plain sight. Tony and May and seen it, too, and apparently the two co-parented Peter into staying the week at the Compound. Tony had pulled Pepper aside and said that being there would give him a chance to take a break from school and patrols, and hopefully relax a little. His grades were slipping, Tony said, and his friends were worried, and it's because the kid just doesn't give himself a chance to breathe. Some time spent away from it all could help.

So far, however, it didn't seem to be working. If anything, the insomnia was getting worse.

It finally came to a head when Pepper woke early on the morning of the fourth day. Her assistant had scheduled a meeting in a few hours that she'd been dreading for weeks, and she was hoping to get a little sunrise yoga in to boost her patience before breakfast. She returned from the roof terrace, water bottle in hand and a rolled mat under her arm, to find Peter in the kitchen.

He was slumped over the table, shoulders hunched almost defensively against the light streaming in through the large windows. Pepper brushed a hand over his upper arm and he jumped, whipping around in his chair.

"Oh-Pepper-hey," he said, rubbing one hand blearily over his eyes. "I didn't realize you were awake."

She hummed and set her things down on the countertop, peering over at the items strewn across the table. There were multiple coffee mugs around him, all drunk to the cold dredges. She remembered Peter saying he burned through caffeine. He must have drank half a pot at once to stay awake, but it didn't seem to be of much help now. Her eyes drifted to the papers and textbooks.

"Homework, Peter? I thought we agreed you'd set that aside for now." Her voice wasn't laced so much with disappointment than concern.

"Yeah, I know, but...I've got this group project in my chem class, and it's worth like a third of our grade. I can't just-bail. On everyone." he shrugged and picked up his pencil again. "Besides, I'm just the research guy. I just have to, like, pour over science encyclopedias for a few more hours and then send everything over to Ned."

Pepper pressed her lips together. "How long have you been working? It's nearly five in the morning, sweetheart."

Peter glanced at the digital clock gleaming on the oven's display and groaned quietly. "Ugh, really? I was hoping to be at least halfway done by now." he glanced up at Pepper's worried gaze and sighed. "It hasn't been that long, I woke up less than an hour ago." The way he was two steps away from physically prying his eyelids open said otherwise, but Pepper didn't mention it. Instead she nodded and rubbed his shoulder gently, trying to ease away the tension mounting there.

"Are you sure you don't want to head to bed, hun? Maybe take a nap until Tony gets up and you two head down to the lab?"

In all honesty, she knew both that if Peter shut his eyes now she doubted he would wake up until dinner, and that Tony had purposefully planned a full-blown movie marathon that day in the hopes that it would get him to conk out before the first set of credits started rolling.

But Peter shook his head again. "No, I really gotta get this done if the rest of the group has any hopes of making the actual presentation. I'm already behind by a full day, so." He waved a hand over the materials before him. "You know."

Pepper made a mental note to get him excused from schoolwork the next time this happened. It was clear he'd been up all night to no avail, his brain too sludgy to focus much on anything. She knew the feeling.

"Okay, if that's what you need to do. But at least let me make you some tea. I doubt you've had breakfast yet."

Peter met her eyes briefly and Pepper knew he was on to her. Her chamomile tea was famous for knocking out the Avengers after particularly long missions or nightmares. Bruce had even started making a stash of his own for post-Hulk transformations. She was expecting another refusal, but instead Peter attempted a tight-lipped smile.

"Sure, thanks."

"Perfect." It was an olive branch. Pepper smiled warmly and patted his arm before making her way to the cupboard where she kept the boxes of probably too-expensive tea. She shuffled through them, trying to find the extra-strength chamomile among the stacks of bags. She really should organize these- _strawberry pomegranate, orange ginger, cinnamon vanilla, acai berry_...no chamomile. Did she really drink that much of it last week? Those phone calls _were_ stressful…

If chamomile wasn't available, another one of her favorites would do. Pepper pulled down a green box and read the label. _Organic mint._ Her go-to for feeling better after a long cold or intense workout.

As she boiled the water (no microwaving it today, Tony), she cast a glance over her shoulder at Peter, who was running a hand through his hair in agitation. Her heart ached. He was a spitting image of the Tony Stark she knew at times like these, and if she glimpsed him out of the corner of her eye too quickly, she'd have to stop herself from asking how FRIDAY's new pop culture coding was going. She remembered a conversation she'd had with May over the phone the previous day.

* * *

" _He pretends like everything's normal, but I know bullshit when I smell it,"_ May had said with a sigh. " _I caught him walking laps around his room at three in the morning on a school night and he tried to cover it up by joking that he was a hot mess."_

 _I'm a piping hot mess,_ Tony had admitted, finally, his hands in the air and weary panic pressed into the lines of his face. Pepper shifted on the couch.

"Do you think he's having nightmares?"

" _I'm sure of it, but he doesn't want to admit to anything. I just...Pepper, I don't know what to do. He won't let me help him."_

"I know the feeling." And she did. Tony had a nasty habit of covering things up for the sake of others, too. She spun a lock of hair around her finger absentmindedly. "I'll have Tony talk to him. It'll be okay, May," she said, letting her warmth for the woman seep into her voice. "We'll take care of him for you. I'll make sure to send you plenty of photos of the two of them passed out in the lab with grease in their hair."

May laughed, rich and bubbly. " _You better."_ a pause, and then, " _Our boys. Always running themselves ragged."_

Pepper smiled and dipped her head. "Our boys."

* * *

Pepper set the steaming cup of tea next to Peter and pulled up a chair next to him, smiling fondly at his quiet "thank you" and running her hand through his tangled curls as he took a sip.

"You need a shower." she murmured. Peter slurped.

"I will, after." For a brief minute he looked at peace, his face relaxing at her touch. But then he took another sip and went rigid. He set the cup down with a dull _thunk,_ sending droplets flying over the lip of the mug. "Pepper-" he croaked. "Is this peppermint?"

"I-it might be, but I can get you a different one if you'd like?"

"No, no-" Peter said, brow furrowed and face red. He was practically breaking into a sweat. His mouth twisted into a frown and he met her eyes. "Pep, I-I'm allergic."

Pepper could practically feel her face draining of color. _That's right. Oh, nonono._ She pressed a hand to her mouth, mind screaming at her in as many languages as she knew. Three seconds passed in which she let herself panic before she kicked into action. Stay composed now, freak out later.

"Okay, okay-FRIDAY? Get Tony, now." her voice cracked and she chanced a look at Peter, who was rubbing at his throat. "Peter? Sweetheart, where's your epi-pen, we need to get that."

"I think...backpack, it should be in my backpack."

"FRIDAY, tell Tony to bring one here. That one or-or there's one in the lab. And tell whatever doctors are in the med-bay what's going on. Peter, sweetie," she said, turning to look at him. "How're you doing?"

"I'm good, it's just-" he waved a hand at his throat. His arms and neck were blotchy, swarmed with hives. "Starts hurting really fast after this."

"Okay, that's okay. Here, let's go-" she helped Peter to his feet and steered him towards the elevator, arms shaking. It opened with a _ding_ and Tony stepped out, gripping an epi-pen and meeting her eyes wildly.

"Peter-! Pep, what-FRIDAY said-"

"No time," Pepper interrupted as Peter wheezed next to her, his face pinched. Tony nodded as Peter reached for the pen, yanking off the cap and jabbing it into his thigh. Three seconds ticked by and he pulled it back out again, collapsing against Pepper with a series of gasps that each sounded- _thank God-_ a little easier than the last one.

Two minutes into her panic attack, Pepper breathed.

* * *

Peter had an IV in his arm.

There was a cannula wrapped around his ears and under his nose, and a pulse oximeter clipped to his right index finger. He was asleep. The sheets he was on looked too starched, the pillowcase too stiff. The lights were too bright, the walls a shade too white. Maybe the room was just too silent. Pepper could find a million and one things wrong with it if she had to, if only to distract herself from what she'd done.

She couldn't believe it. She _knew_ Peter was allergic to peppermint, he'd mentioned it the previous Christmas, for God's sake. He'd avoided every candy cane in the place like it was the plague-well, except for the cherry-flavored ones. Those he ate like there was so tomorrow.

But, _God,_ she should have remembered. She was Virginia Potts, for crying out loud. She didn't forget anything. She knew both her and Tony's schedules on any given day, she knew the names of half the janitorial staff, she knew how to sign killer deals with old, rich business men who didn't look past her smile to read the fine print.

But, somehow, she couldn't recall the thing that could have killed the boy lying in front of her.

Damn insomnia. Damn cups of tea and _organic mint_ flavoring and her overpowering motherly instincts that backfired horribly. Damn it all.

Pepper buried her face in her hands and sighed, silent tears escaping and darkening the material of her sweatpants. She heard the door slide open and looked up.

Tony was leaning in the doorway, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes dull. Even from where she was sitting by the bed she could see his crow's feet, crinkled ever so slightly as he chanced a tight smile.

"Hey, Pep."

She wiped her eyes instantly. "What's the news?"

"Just got done talking to Cho. She says he's gonna be fine, they're just going to monitor him for a bit."

"Good." Pepper glanced over to where Peter was lying, utterly still except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. _At least he's sleeping,_ she thought, then immediately scolded herself for it. It seemed, however, that Tony was thinking the same thing.

"Kid was overdue for a nap," he said, moving to sit on the edge of Peter's bed. He brushed his thumb gently over Peter's forehead, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. He glanced up and Pepper smiled softly, nodding.

"Have you called May?"

"Not yet," Tony sighed. "I was...kind of hoping you could do that, actually."

Pepper froze. Explaining to May Parker that she accidentally poisoned her nephew wasn't high on her to-do list, especially after assuring the woman that they'd take good care of him. She wasn't worried May would be angry, per se, but the whole conversation loomed over her, tense, awkward, stilted. Those were not traits she wanted to portray.

Tony must have picked up on her uneasiness and cut in, "Or-if you don't want to, I can do it. No biggie. Aunt Hottie's heard far worse from me before, and I'm somehow still standing."

Pepper nodded again, this time in agreement. Tony furrowed his brow. "You alright, Pep? Because usually at this point you're already on top of everything, ordering food and thanking everybody on call. Not that you have too, I'm just...something's up. What is it?"

And that was part of it, wasn't it? Because Tony was right-she did do all of that, and near flawlessly. It was practically her job. If she didn't, she doubted anyone would pick up the slack just as quickly. She was always the one to coordinate events, refill prescriptions, or put flowers in a nice vase on the hospital room's table. If she didn't, it wouldn't get done. Simple.

And for the most part, she didn't mind. Enjoyed it, even. It was the little touches, the small things that showed you cared. Remembering details deemed unimportant and saving them for later, so that she knew exactly what kind of ballet slippers Natasha lusted after, or the brand of paint brushes Steve would use the most. She'd always been that way, and the reactions of the people- and the kindness she received in return-made everything worth it in the end.

But now-now, when everything was her fault-she couldn't make herself put on a brave face and get out there. The whole reason for this mess was _her-_ it was probably best she step back and let others handle it for a while.

"Pepper?" Tony was still looking at her. Shoot. "You're zoning out on me, babe. You want me to get you something? Coffee, bagel, a shoulder massage?"

"Yeah," she plastered a small smile on her face and ran a hand through her hair. "If you could call May, that would be great."

"Okay," he tapped his fingers against the edge of the bed, then stood and opened the curtains covering the lone window across the room. Sunlight filtered through and danced lazily on the linoleum floors, illuminating the tired creases of Peter's resting face with bright clarity. Pepper watched the rays catch streaks of dust floating lazily in the air for a moment.

Tony sat back down on the bed with a "There. Less depressing," and turned to face her again. He tilted his head toward Peter.

"Do you know what happened?" he asked. "Did he eat something? If it was those salt and vinegar chips again, I'm gonna kick his ass."

"Not exactly," Pepper sighed and rubbed at her face. "Tony-it...I did it. I gave him peppermint tea."

She could see the confusion flick over his face. "I...What?"

Pepper gestured weakly with one hand. "He was up before five this morning, working himself half to death. I made him tea and didn't even think before I gave it to him. I...God, I'm so sorry."

She expected Tony to be silent for a beat. She expected him to exhale and run his fingers through his hair. She expected a half smile, a reassurance, a shrug that said _okay, it's okay, he's okay._ She expected him to disappear in his lab the next day after Peter woke up to burn off all his nervous energy, tinkering and creating until his hands ceased to shake.

What she didn't expect was for Tony to completely relax, slumping forward with a soft exhale.

"That's what happened?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "You made the tea for him, no one-nobody else was involved?" At Pepper's confused nod his shoulders loosened, draining of any tension held there. "Oh, thank God. I thought it might have been done by someone else."

"Someone...else."

"There was this guy, this plucky jackass with stolen alien tech-we think he got it from Toomes, we're not sure. Anyways, somehow he put two and two together and figured out spiders hate minty stuff, and he got Peter in the face with this spray, like, honest-to-God exaggerated breath spray, and it got through his mask's filter. Sent the kid into anaphylactic shock mid-patrol. I've fixed the mask, now, but I was worried maybe he'd figured out a way to do it again."

"I see." That was...worrying, to say the least. No wonder he was relieved. "I still poisoned him, Tony."

"Yeah, by _accident._ Am I gonna be a little upset? Yeah, sure, I am. But, Pep, you didn't _mean_ to. I know you, you're probably ripping yourself to pieces right now-" at the look on her face he grinned. "-See? Called it. But you were just trying to help him. Lord knows I've gotten the poor kid into more than his fair share of dangerous experiences. You remember that HYDRA raid in Florida? Because I remember that HYDRA raid in Florida _far_ too well." he paused, lips twisted to one side in that face he did when he was trying to remember his train of thought. He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "The point is, Peter is gonna be okay. And you also acted way faster than I did last time this happened, God, I stood there gaping like a fish for a solid five seconds."

Pepper huffed a laugh, short and stressed, but it made Tony's eyes soften all the same. It was the exact look she'd seen him throw her all the time, not to mention the absolute _doe eyes_ he gives to Rhodey whenever he shows up, practically clinging to his pressed polo shirts like a koala. And oh, look at that, it's also the one she sees him take on whenever Peter enters a damn room Tony's already in.

When her husband got so sappy, Pepper doesn't know, but she loves it all the same.

"So you're not going to be filing a restraining order against me?"

" _Hell_ no. If we're left unsupervised we're gonna accidentally blow up Dum-E."

"Well, we certainly can't have that."

Peter stirred and scrunched his face up in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible. Tony turned and swept a thumb over his cheek. He murmured in Italian, words to a song she didn't know, something about a bird and a meadow. Pretty and soft. Peter's face smoothed out and he turned his face into his pillow, dislodging the cannula. Tony hooked it back in place.

"I'm gonna go call May. You alright staying here in case he wakes up?"

"Of course." Pepper moved to take his place on the edge of the bed.

"Mm-kay. Shout if you need anything." Tony kissed her briefly and was gone, leaving the room quiet and calm behind him. Pepper breathed in deeply, shakily, raking one hand through Peter curls and gently working out the knots she found, the other rubbing at the ache in her temple. "Will we ever get a weekend where you come over and Tony and I don't have a heart attack?" she whispered, fondness creeping into her voice. "Next time it's going to be strictly pajamas and Pixar movies, no exceptions."

Peter's eyelids fluttered open and he grinned dopily at her. "Sounds good'ta me."

"Oh, you little-how long have you been awake for?"

"Mm...few minutes? Long enough to know Tony croons lullabyes like a sparrow." his voice was hoarse, and he still looked positively beat, but his eyes were brighter than she'd seen them in days.

"He does, doesn't he?" Pepper pulled her hand away and ran a finger over her wedding ring. Nervous tick. "How are you feeling?"

"Throat's a little sore, but 'm fine. May?"

"Tony's on the phone with her now. I'm sure she'll take a cab over as soon as her shift's done."

Peter nodded bearily and yawned, wriggling deeper into the mattress. "Cool, that's cool. Are you okay?"

Pepper had to hold back a scoff. Was _she_ okay? Lord, this angel was too pure for her.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I'm all right. Just really, really sorry."

"Don't be," Peter mumbled. His eyes were starting to droop shut and he blinked, fighting to stay awake. "I should've realized sooner."

"No, you shouldn't have, honey," Pepper said, pushing aside the lump of guilt still sitting heavy in her stomach, creeping up like acid to bleed through her chest. "That was all on me."

"Should've slept, 'n I would've known."

"Maybe, but that doesn't change it now."

"Mm. I guess not." Peter turned to look her dead in the eye again, hazy and sleepy and pumped with drugs. "Still not upset, though."

"Okay," Pepper whispered, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Not enough to spill over, just enough to burn. She held one of Peter's hands in her own and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "Okay."

"Okay." Peter said. He squeezed her hand and yawned. "I think 'm gonna sleep now."

"You do that, honey. You've got a lot of drugs in your system."

Peter nodded and laid back. He closed his eyes for long enough that Pepper thought he might have fallen back asleep, but then, "L've you."

God, he was gonna tear her heart in two, wasn't he? But something in those two words split the tension building in her core, letting it ease out through her limbs and drain like mercury. Like liquid glass, evaporating. She smiled, and this time she felt it, sunlight streaking through wisps of her hair and tracing freckles on Peter's face. She planted another kiss, this time on his forehead, and hummed made-up melodies until he drifted off for real.

When May arrived that evening, Pepper was reading _The Hobbit_ to Peter in bed, and a blue vase of violets sat by the window.

* * *

 _fin_

* * *

 **A/N: I've been struggling with this one for a while now-Pepper's a tough cookie for me to write! I tried to make her as in-character as I possibly could-did I do okay? (I also had Peter's allergic reaction happen a lot faster than the average person due to his enhancements.) I'm a big tea drinker, so-fun fact-all those tea names were part of my own assortment I drink (strawberry pomegranate is fantastic, really).**

 **Thank you for reading, please drop in a review, stay safe, and I love you all 3000!**


End file.
